


A Sure Trainwreck

by TheAsexualScorpio



Category: RWBY
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualScorpio/pseuds/TheAsexualScorpio
Summary: Clover doesn't know what will happen after Jacques Schnee's election. Recklessness bred from uncertainty—as well as the sight of Qrow in a suit—makes him ditch professionalism. It almost goes wrong, but things turn out alright.A "Cordially Invited" AU where the gang wears formal wear, and the evening DOESN'T go to shit.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	A Sure Trainwreck

Jacques Schnee had never been one to get straight to the point, Clover thought as he watched the man flit from person to person like a particularly loathsome insect.

Instead of simply starting the council meeting, he had opted to combine it with his victory party, which meant a cocktail hour, then a no doubt interminable and self-congratulatory dinner, and _then_ the council meeting. Clover checked his watch, the stiff fabric of his dress uniform rubbing uncomfortably against his arms as he tried to keep the movement discreet.

There was still another forty-three minutes left of the cocktail hour. 

A cursory glance around the ballroom showed he was not the only one unhappy to stand around and watch Schnee smirk and gladhand. The general stood several feet to Clover’s right with a pair of council members. Clover couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could guess at the gist by their tense shoulders and pinched expressions. To Clover’s left, Winter stood at parade rest in her own dress uniform. To those who didn’t know her, she would seem as implacable as a glacier, but Clover could see cracks in the mask. Her ice-blue eyes hadn’t left Schnee for a moment, and every time the man let out another booming—and patently false—laugh, her jaw clenched just a little bit tighter. 

Across the room, Robyn Hill made no effort to hide her contempt. She was leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed, and the glare she leveled at Schnee could have cut down a boarbatusk. Instead of dressing to the nines like everyone else, she had shown up in her customary tunic, vest, and leggings. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back into its usual messy ponytail, and even from here, Clover could see that her boots were caked in mud. It was poor taste, he thought, to invite your opponent to your victory party, especially after an election as ferocious as this one. He bit back a smirk when Robyn braced one filthy boot against the pristine white wall behind her. 

Clover checked his watch again. Forty-one more minutes. 

Movement at the ballroom doors caught his attention, and he straightened, his hand falling to Kingfisher. He relaxed when he saw Ruby Rose step into the room. She stood tall and straight-backed in a floor-length, red and black gown. Her mouth was set in a determined line, and she looked very grown up. The thought made Clover frown. It was worryingly easy, sometimes, to forget that she was only sixteen. In a better world, she would have been getting ready to start her first year at one of the huntsman academies. She would have had time before she became a soldier. He snagged a glass of wine from a passing server and watched as Ruby’s compatriots filed in after her.

Young Weiss Schnee seemed to be channeling her older sister’s icy fortitude. She looked untouchable in a bright white gown with her chin tilted haughtily upward. After her came Yang Xiao Long in a shimmering, champagne-colored gown. Clover looked at her just long enough to see a dangerously low neckline and then moved right on by. Blake Belladonna was holding Yang’s hand, and Clover had to hide a smile in his drink.

Unlike the rest of her team, she had opted to wear a tailored suit in a deep shade of purple. Her dark hair was slicked back so her faunus trait, a pair of cat ears, was impossible to miss. He respected her boldness. It took strength to stand tall in a roomful of stuffy Atlesian conservatives with her animal features on display and her hand in another woman’s. Jaune, Ren, Oscar, and Nora tumbled in after the girls, looking significantly more at ease but still very elegant in tailored suits and a glittery pink ball gown. 

Once the kids were all in, the doors fell shut, and they didn’t open again. Clover frowned and finished his glass of wine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Winter straighten and look away from her father for the first time all evening. She huffed quietly.

“This is beneath you, Captain.”

Offended, Clover turned to reply, but then he saw a flash of red by the doors. He whirled back around so quickly that it was almost embarrassing. Behind him, Winter made a noise that Clover would have called a snort, had it had come from anyone else.

It didn’t matter though, because Qrow was here.

He didn’t look happy about it, judging by the way he was glowering around the room, but he was here. With perfect timing, a server passed by with a tray of empty glasses. Clover plunked his own glass onto the tray and looked over his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, Specialist Schnee.”

He didn’t rush to Qrow, though part of him, a large part, wanted to. That impulse was drowned out, though, by the knowledge that he was thirty-nine years old, not a kid with his first crush. He was entitled to at least a little pride. He might have picked up the pace a little, however, when Qrow caught sight of him. Qrow _smiled_ , just a little, and Clover’s heart sped up in his chest. The other man called out to Ruby and jerked a thumb in Clover’s direction. The cool, professional huntress disappeared in an instant, and Ruby gave Qrow a goofy grin and a double thumbs up.

Clover willed himself to keep a steady pace, and he practically sauntered across the ballroom. He met Qrow in the middle. “You clean up well.”

Qrow scoffed and plucked at the cape he was wearing. It was much longer than the one he favored, with its hem falling a few inches above his ankles rather than just above the knee. It was also a brighter shade of red than the old one and free of any holes or frayed seams. “I look like a damn magician.”

“Alright,” Clover said evenly. “I see the whole ‘not deflecting compliments’ thing is going to take some practice.”

He’s not sure what made him do it. Maybe his wine was a little stronger than expected. Maybe it was because he was standing in a mansion in his finest clothes, waiting to find out if he was about to lose his job or not. Maybe it was because the world was about to end, and the whims of a petulant, short-sighted billionaire were about to be what pushed it over the edge. Maybe it was because Qrow’s presence—his wry irreverence tempered with a deeply entrenched sense of honor—was always like a rush of clean air when Clover thought he had finally gotten used to the stagnant miasma of secrets and dreadful anticipation. Whatever it was, it made him stop thinking about why it might have been a bad idea, and he allowed himself to _look_ at Qrow in a way he had denied himself in the field. 

The tailor James had set upon Qrow had chosen a black tweed suit that seemed specifically designed to draw attention to everything Clover had tried to ignore whenever he and Qrow worked together: the graceful length of Qrow’s neck, his toned chest, the taper of his waist, and his long, long legs. Touches of scarlet—a tie, some embroidery on his vest, and of course, the cape—set his jewel-red eyes ablaze. He’d also chosen not to shave the layer of stubble along his jaw, and his salt and pepper hair was as windswept as ever. The latter two details pushed him from ‘handsome’ to ‘rakish’ and made Clover think of a rogue in a story, one who’d snuck into a nobleman’s masquerade to make off with his daughter’s virtue. 

When he had finished drinking the other man in, Clover’s eyes flicked back to Qrow’s, which by now had gone very wide. “You look _good_ , Qrow.”

Qrow cleared his throat, and his cheeks took on a faint pink tinge that Clover _loved_. He opened his mouth, and, drunk on his own daring, Clover raised his eyebrows, silently daring Qrow to say something self-deprecating. Qrow closed his mouth and looked down at the floor. Clover could almost hear the gears grinding in the other man’s head as he struggled to come up with something to say.

He wondered what Qrow would think if he told him he looked like a rogue. Clover could see him rallying to agree and putting on a playful leer like an ill-fitting mask. Maybe not ill-fitting, Clover corrected himself. After all, he had seen the footage of Qrow dueling Winter in the Beacon Academy courtyard. It was classic rogue behavior, and Clover still got goosebumps when he thought about how Qrow had responded to Winter’s threat to cut out his tongue. He had brushed his hair out of his eyes and settled into a wide stance with a smirk. _Alright then. Come take it._

Maybe “out of practice” was the better phrase. It was a role Qrow had not rehearsed in a while. Memories of the last month—Qrow’s wide eyes, his faint blushes and small smiles, and the way he ducked his head in the face of a compliment—cascaded through Clover’s mind, and he thought the other man might be tired of getting typecast. Clover wondered if that made _him_ the rogue. It was not a descriptor he’d ever imagined applying to himself, but he found he liked the idea of wooing Qrow. Qrow clearing his throat again distracted Clover from his musing. 

“Erm, thanks. You too.” His husky voice sounded a little deeper than usual. 

Clover grinned. “Thank you, Qrow.”

Qrow turned his attention back to the floor, and Clover’s grin widened as Qrow’s ears steadily turned pink. Yes, he definitely liked the idea of wooing Qrow Branwen.

Their companionable silence was broken by the arrival of a server offering drinks. More accurately, it was Qrow’s _reaction_ to the server. He stiffened, snapped out a harsh “no,” and then stalked off. Clover glanced at the server. He was a young faunus man with short rabbit ears sticking out of his straw-colored hair. He wasn’t familiar to Clover, and judging by the server’s bewildered look, it was safe to say he didn’t know Qrow either. Neither of them had any idea what he could have done to provoke the man. Clover smiled ruefully and took off after Qrow.

When he reached the doors, he quickly surveyed the ballroom. The general was still talking with council members. Winter was engaged in conversation with her sister. Ruby and Yang were chatting with their teammates, and it seemed they hadn't noticed their uncle's abrupt departure. Satisfied no one would miss him, Clover slipped out of the room.

The corridor was massive, open and airy with whitewashed walls and cobalt blue carpeting. Qrow should have stood out, but it was like he had vanished. Frowning, Clover started down the hallway, peeking into alcoves and behind suits of armor as he went. Blue and white portraits of severe-looking Schnee ancestors watched with disapproval. 

Just before the hall opened into an even bigger foyer, he found Qrow in a deep alcove. At the end of it was an arch-shaped window that was easily twice as tall as either of them and four times as wide. During the day, the window probably offered a beautiful view of the manor’s grounds, but right now, it was as black as the moonless night outside. It gaped like a bottomless pit against the mansion’s stark white décor.

Qrow stood with his back to the corridor and his forehead pressed against the window. His posture was weary, and his shoulders slumped. With unnerving clarity, Clover saw Qrow falling into that black abyss, never to be seen again. He took a step into the alcove and reached for him. As quickly as it appeared, the feeling dissipated, and Clover felt foolish. He put his arm down.

“Qrow? Are you alright?”

Qrow made a frustrated noise, almost a growl. “I just...need a minute. Go back to the party.”

“I’d rather not,” Clover replied, and the words came out with more weight than he intended.

Perceptive as ever, Qrow seemed to hear the unspoken _I’d rather be with you._ His laugh was a harsh, ugly thing that made Clover's shoulders tense up. “You’ve got a couple of screws loose, boy scout.”

For a moment, Clover stared at Qrow’s back, baffled at his sudden change in mood. He’d thought things were going well. Maybe he had come on too strong? No. Qrow would’ve left sooner if he'd truly been bothered by anything Clover said. The server had been the one to set him off, Clover was sure of it. But why? If Qrow had known the man, had a problem with him in the past, why wouldn’t he just _say_ so? Clover briefly considered that maybe Qrow didn’t like faunus and then dismissed it. Qrow worked well with Marrow and obviously loved Blake, so clearly, he wasn’t a racist. Clover just didn’t know what else could have provoked him. He’d hated the man’s uniform? He disapproved of Schnee’s choice to serve wine and not champagne?

The wine.

Clover was suddenly reminded of a conversation he'd had with Qrow a few weeks back. Hell, he'd already been thinking about it tonight. The first time they had ever talked about Qrow's tendency to refuse praise, Clover had been so focused on Qrow's behavior that he hadn't put too much thought into what Qrow actually said: _Once upon a time, I’da drank to that. Don’t worry, I gave that up._

Clover had assumed from the casual way Qrow spoke that he had given up alcohol a long time ago. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He took another tentative step into the alcove. “When you said you gave _‘_ that’ up, that was a recent decision. Wasn’t it?” 

Qrow turned away from the window with a frustrated sigh. “One whole month as of yesterday. Whoop-de- _fucking_ -doo.”

Clover blinked. A puzzle piece he hadn’t even realized was missing was just slotted into place. Suddenly, he had answers to questions he’d only vaguely wondered about in the time he’d known Qrow.

How had the Ace Ops been able to take Qrow down so easily at the time of his arrest? Clover’s math told him that the other man had been sober for _maybe_ twenty-four hours at the time and had probably been deep in withdrawal.

Where had Qrow been that first week in Atlas, while his kids had been underfoot in the labs, the armory, and the briefing and training rooms? Probably in the infirmary, undergoing a detox regimen and compiling a recovery plan.

Where was the loose cannon he’d seen in the footage of Qrow and Winter’s duel? In the bottom of a bottle, apparently.

How could someone as talented and _fascinating_ as Qrow Branwen be so unsure of himself? Clover had chalked it up to his semblance being bad luck, but Qrow was also an alcoholic. It explained a _lot_.

For the first time since he met Qrow, Clover didn't know what to say. He had never struggled with an addiction himself, and while he was certain he had served with men and women who had—the rehab unit of the infirmary was well-staffed and funded for a reason—none of them had ever come to him for support. He didn't know what it was like to look at a glass of wine and see a landmine, and he had never learned what to say to those who did. All he could think to ask was: “How are you feeling?"

There was that ugly laugh again. “Like I’m stuck in a tornado and clinging to the ground by my fingernails. So, you know. Peachy.”

He glared at Clover, and there was an almost feral gleam in his eyes that Clover had never seen before. He had a feeling that, for the first time, he was in the presence of the man James and Winter had warned him about. So, not just from the bottom of a bottle, Clover corrected himself.

Clover wished he knew what the right thing to say or do was. He wished it was as easy as paying Qrow a compliment and then pushing back against his tendency to deflect. He sensed this was different though. Qrow wasn’t downplaying his looks or the good example he set for the kids. This was a thornier topic—ugly and painful and hard to navigate. Clover wanted to reassure him, tell him that he contributed so much to the mission, and his kids, and even to Clover himself, but he had no way of knowing if Qrow would accept it. He had no way of knowing if Qrow could even be _talked into_ accepting it.

Clover could ignore it, go back to the party, and give Qrow time to collect himself. It was what he had asked Clover to do in the first place, after all. But it felt wrong to leave Qrow alone. He admired Qrow so much and hated to see him struggle. Clover came to a decision then. He squared his shoulders and looked Qrow in the eye. He caught the second the other man’s gaze turned puzzled.

Then Clover kissed him.

It was a soft thing, not much more than the barest press of lips, but it felt so good. Qrow's lips were soft, and his stubble scratched lightly at Clover's face. When Clover pulled away, his mouth was tingling. Somehow, his hands had found their way to Qrow's hips, and Qrow's hands were on Clover’s shoulders. His nerves were sparking beneath his skin, and he had to blink several times to clear the surreal haze that had taken over his brain. After a month of dancing around one another, he had finally kissed Qrow Branwen. 

Qrow looked a little dazed himself, and the tension had disappeared from his shoulders. When spoke, his voice no longer had that rough, angry edge. “What was that about?”

What _had_ it been about? What had Clover been thinking? Why would he kiss Qrow when he was vulnerable? Honestly, it was all he could think of to do. It had seemed easier than trying to find the right words. Words could be misinterpreted and twisted around. A kiss said, "I see you. I care about you. I want you to feel better." Of course, now that he'd done it, he could see how Qrow might hear: "Shut up. I don’t care about your problems. Ignore them to make me happy."

“I thought you could use the distraction. And I have a thing for magicians,” he finally said. The joke fell flat in Clover’s opinion, but Qrow laughed. It was a bit breathier than usual but also more genuine. 

"More than a couple’a loose screws then.”

Clover took a couple of steps forward, gently herding Qrow back until he was flat against the wall. Bemused, Qrow let him. His breath caught when Clover laid his forehead against his. “Stop that,” Clover said, and now _his_ voice was a little breathy. “Please.”

Qrow's breath left him in a rush. When he spoke, Clover felt the other man's lips brush against his own. "We shouldn't do this." 

Clover’s stomach sank, and he pulled back a little. “Can I ask why?”

“I’m not someone you want to be with.”

This again. Clover tightened his hold on Qrow. "I admire you. A lot. You're talented, funny, trustworthy, and dedicated. Even now." Even when he was struggling. He looked Qrow in the eye and raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure it's possible to find better."

“I’m a _drunk_ , Clover.”

“Recovering.”

“My semblance...”

“...hasn’t been a problem so far. Not to me,” Clover finished, shrugging one shoulder.

Qrow made a breathy, gut-punched noise. For a long moment, he simply stared at Clover. His breathing came out ragged and harsh. Clover could see what the other man was thinking. He’d heard wrong. Clover had misspoken, or flat out lied. Clover held his gaze. The only way Qrow was getting out of this was if he said straight out that he didn’t want Clover. No more talk about what either of them deserved.

“Damn it,” Qrow rasped. 

And the next thing Clover knew, Qrow was kissing him.

This kiss wasn’t nearly as tender as the first. Qrow, it turned out, was a biter. He nipped at Clover's lips and drew the lower one into his mouth, and his long fingers tangled in Clover’s hair and _pulled_ him wherever Qrow wanted him to go. Need roared through Clover’s blood, as bright and all-consuming as a forest fire. It burned away everything that wasn’t Qrow.

Clover reveled in the taste of Qrow’s mouth, the faint spicy scent of his cologne, and the scratch of his stubble against Clover’s cheeks. With a breathy moan, Clover surged forward and Qrow to the wall. Qrow grunted at the impact, and trembling fingers clawed at Clover’s neck and shoulders. Clover gasped against Qrow’s mouth, the sound transforming into a low, contended moan when Qrow’s tongue slipped into his mouth. 

It was a struggle to break the kiss. Qrow kept pulling him back, and Clover kept sinking into him. Time came and went in fits and starts, but eventually, he was able to break the kiss with a gasp. He started in on Qrow’s neck, biting at the soft spot beneath the curve of his jaw, and Qrow made a choked sound and bucked his hips. His head fell back to offer Clover more access.

Clover could feel him beginning to harden, and he grinned wolfishly against the other man’s skin. He bit him again and then kissed and licked a path down the line of his throat. Qrow clutched at his shoulders, laughing breathlessly whenever Clover grazed a ticklish spot. Clover continued down Qrow’s neck, pressing firm kisses to the smooth skin until his mouth met fabric. He snarled a little. Of all the times for Qrow to start wearing his shirts buttoned all the way up. His hands shook slightly as he wrestled with Qrow’s tie and shirt buttons.

“Just how far are you planning to go, lucky charm?” Qrow panted.

“This far.” Three buttons was enough to bare the top of Qrow’s chest and, more importantly, his collarbones. Holding the shirt open with both hands, Clover leaned down to scrape his teeth over the ridge of Qrow’s collarbone. Qrow grunted, and the back of his head hit the wall with a quiet _thunk._ His hips bucked against Clover’s again. The hard line of his cock was even more pronounced now, pressing against Clover’s hip, and before he knew what he was doing, Clover had dropped to his knees. He looked up at Qrow. “Maybe this far,” he amended.

Qrow made another breathy, helpless noise. His fingers were still in Clover’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that sent continuous shivers down Clover’s spine. “You’re not worried about Jimmy coming to find you?”

Clover blinked up at Qrow. “You know, I would normally say no. But right now, I have no idea, and I’m kind of into it.”

Qrow let out a bark of incredulous laughter and then slapped a hand over his mouth. He sent a wild-eyed look to the opening of the alcove while Clover simply took Qrow’s other hand and returned it to his hair. He unbuckled Qrow’s trousers and rucked up his shirt to taste the tender skin below his navel. As he dragged down Qrow’s pants, Clover pressed a slow line of open-mouthed kisses along the bared skin. Qrow’s stomach tensed so hard he was trembling, and the tremors worsened the closer Clover’s mouth got to Qrow’s cock. Both of them were breathing raggedly, and the sound was loud in the silent alcove. Qrow’s breath left him in a shaky rush when Clover finally pulled his pants down enough to free his cock. Clover’s moan was a plaintive, breathless thing. 

Qrow’s cock was flushed a warm, dark pink, and pre-come had started to bead at the tip. Clover’s own cock throbbed, and he shuddered. It was overwhelming to want this much. He wrapped a hand around Qrow’s cock and gave him a few strokes. He almost didn’t notice the way Qrow gasped at his touch, fascinated as he was by the feel of the cock in his hands. Unlike any Atlesian man Clover had ever slept with, Qrow was uncut, and his foreskin was incredibly soft. He leaned forward and took the head into his mouth, humming contentedly at the explosion of _saltybittermusk_ on his tongue. The sound Qrow made—a deep moan that Clover felt more than heard—made him look up. The way Qrow was looking at him made Clover’s heart speed up. 

Qrow was always so perceptive, always watching for a hidden threat. More than once, he’d been able to dispatch a group of hostiles before Clover even had a chance to draw his weapon. Even in moments of relative safety, when they were supposed to be having private conversations, Qrow always had an eye out for something else: his nieces, grimm, or bandits.

But right now, all of Qrow’s attention was on him. His mouth was open and panting. That flush Clover liked so much had crept into his cheeks. His eyes were hungry and heavy-lidded as he stared down at Clover, and they had darkened from their usual stained-glass red to almost the color of dried blood. The look was heady and primal, and it sent a divine chill down Clover’s spine. 

He kept his eyes on Qrow's as he took more of the other man's cock into his mouth. Only when he physically couldn't look anymore did he let his eyes fall closed, and he began to bob his head in earnest. It had been far too long since he'd last gotten to do this. Even before he’d learned about Salem, work had kept him far too busy for more than an occasional one night stand.

He’d missed it, missed the weight on his tongue, the feeling of his partner trembling under his hands, and his partner’s hands in his hair. He moaned softly, causing Qrow to curse and tighten his hold on Clover’s hair. Thankfully, he didn’t push, and Clover rewarded him by going as low as he could and swallowing. Qrow made a guttural noise, and Clover pulled back, hollowing his cheeks as he went. He soon worked up to a steady rhythm that had Qrow gasping and making cut-off noises, his legs trembling. 

Suddenly, Qrow’s fingers tightened in his hair again. “Clover, I’m going to—”

Once again, Clover went down as deep as he could and swallowed, and Qrow came down his throat with a grunt. A quick glance upward told Clover that Qrow was biting into his own fist to muffle the noise. He sucked at Qrow a little longer, reveling in the minute twitches of other man’s hips and his great gasping breaths. He slowly pulled off once Qrow had started to soften. He would have tucked the other man back into his pants, but before he could, he was being hauled to his feet.

He gasped as Qrow slammed him against the opposite wall hard enough to make his teeth rattle. And then he was being kissed, wet and open and dirty. Qrow’s tongue snaked into his mouth with a filthy sinuousness that made Clover groan and instinctively roll his hips in response. Qrow's thigh wedged itself between Clover’s legs, and the pressure of it against Clover’s aching cock was perfect. He grinded even harder against the other man. 

Qrow broke the kiss then, making Clover whine. He opened his eyes, trying to blink away the bleariness that had overtaken them. Time had slowed down again, and the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. Qrow bit him hard, low on his neck, and his whole body twitched. Qrow licked a broad stripe up his neck towards his ear before he started to gnaw on it too. Clover was fairly certain his brain had melted and was starting to leak out of his ears. Maybe that was why it took him a minute to realize Qrow was speaking. His voice was deeper than Clover had ever heard it, like the warning rumble before an explosion or the rolling thunder before a particularly blinding crack of lightning. 

“The absolute fuckin’ _nerve_ of you,” he growled with a particularly vicious bite to Clover’s neck. “‘Hasn’t been a problem to me,’ you fuckin’—and you mean it! And you're gorgeous, and you make me so happy it pisses me off a little. Just... _absolutely_ fuck you."

Clover just threw his head back and laughed, not even caring that he hit his head against the wall. Qrow’s words tore at something in his chest, not painful but raw and tender _._ It made everything happening now seem so much sharper, so much more meaningful. He laughed, bright and disbelieving and so, _so_ happy.

The noise transformed into a yelp when Qrow gave him another hard bite to the neck. The skin tingled as his aura immediately set to work repairing the broken blood vessels, and just this once, Clover wished his aura wasn’t quite so helpful. He wanted Qrow’s marks on him, wanted everyone to look at him and _know_. His breath caught when his pants suddenly loosened, and he let out a breathless, shuddering moan when Qrow’s long and dexterous fingers wrapped around his cock. He set a relentless pace that stole Clover’s breath and made his back bow away from the wall. 

“Qrow,” he gasped. Gods help him, he was almost _crooning_. “Sweetheart, that feels so good.”

Qrow’s hand faltered. “Sweetheart?” His amusement was tangible.

“Yes, sweetheart. Deal with it,” Clover said firmly. He wiggled his hips. “And keep going.”

Snickering, Qrow went back to mouthing at his neck and stroking his cock. Clover could feel that it wasn’t going to take long. He’d been wound up since the first time Qrow kissed him, and sucking Qrow’s cock had left him on a knife’s edge. Molten pleasure coiled low in his gut, tension growing tighter and tighter with each stroke of Qrow’s hand until suddenly, it snapped.

Clover’s orgasm was bone-deep and violent, sending a shock wave through his whole body. Clover’s vision went white, and he smothered a cry into Qrow’s shoulder. Qrow continued to stroke him through the aftershocks and press lazy kisses to his neck. Clover sighed as he came down and slumped contentedly against the other man. Qrow echoed the noise, his arms wrapping tight around Clover’s back.

For a while, they simply stood there enjoying each other’s closeness. Unfortunately, Clover’s brain started working again sooner than he would have liked, and he remembered something that made him tense.

“Clover?” Qrow asked warily. His hold on Clover started to loosen, and that was intolerable.

Clover wrapped his own arms around Qrow and pressed another kiss to the side of his neck. He let out a long sigh. "I was just thinking that my dress uniform is probably ruined."

Qrow snorted derisively, but Clover didn’t miss the way he relaxed against him. “Oh no, not the dress uniform.”

“It is, in fact, the nicest thing I own, and I might actually be court martialed if something happened to it.” However, Clover couldn’t find it in himself to be as concerned as he probably should have been.

Chuckling, Qrow took a step back, his hands lingering on Clover’s shoulders. He cocked his head and looked Clover up and down. “It doesn’t look like any got on you at all, actually.” Qrow’s eyes widened, and he looked down. He let out a long sigh. “Yeah. That was about what I was expecting.” With a wry smile, he looked up at Clover. “Looks like it all got on me. Funny how that works.”

Heat flared to life under Clover’s skin, and he had to blink away the sudden and _visceral_ image of Qrow naked with Clover’s come on his skin. Clover cleared his throat. Not the time, he chastised himself. The last thing either of them needed was to go back into the ballroom with such blatant evidence of their activities on display. The idea of the general catching them in the act was far less arousing now that orgasms were no longer on the table.

Clover suppressed a shudder and fiddled with the horseshoe-shamrock pin on his lapel. There had to be some way to fix this. He started to pat himself down. He grinned when he found an unopened moist towelette of undetermined age in his pants pocket. In his jacket pocket, he dug up a stain-remover pen. Thank you, semblance.

They worked together to clean off the worst of the mess and then scrubbed at the spot with the pen until the stain was almost invisible. Pleased, Clover set to work setting the rest of Qrow to right. He tucked Qrow’s cock back into his pants and buckled them back up. He buttoned the shirt back up to the collar and straightened Qrow’s tie. Then, he buttoned up Qrow's jacket, and the stain was covered completely.

He caught the other man’s eye and smiled. "Good as new." A closer look at Qrow's hair made him frown. His father would have said it looked like an explosion in a mattress factory. “Almost.” 

He carded his fingers through the other man's hair, trying to get it back to something resembling the "artfully tousled" style Qrow seemed to prefer. It took him too long to realize the other man was grinning at him. Clover slowly removed his hands from Qrow’s hair, reluctant because he still hadn’t gotten it quite right, and because it was feather-soft to the touch.

“What?” he asked.

"You done?” was Qrow’s reply.

Clover bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes darting back and forth between Qrow’s hair and his grinning face.

“Just a little more,” he said quickly, and then his hands were back in Qrow’s hair. 

Qrow laughed. “Your dick’s still out, man.”

Clover looked down. “So it is.”

Snickering, Qrow reached for Clover's pants. Clover bit his lip when Qrow wrapped a hand around his cock. Unfortunately, it was only to tuck him back into his underwear. He zipped Clover back up and buckled the belt again. His red eyes flicked to Clover’s before focusing on Clover’s jacket. Clover had made it through the encounter mostly unscathed, but Qrow still took the time to smooth what few wrinkles there were and tug at any creases he found until his jacket was neat again. He laid his forearms across Clover’s shoulders and began combing his fingers through Clover’s hair. Clover’s eyelashes fluttered, and Qrow smiled in response, small and smug.

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Clover asked.

“No,” Qrow said, softer than Clover expected. “I’m just trying to get your hair back in shape, lucky charm.”

He took a step back, and Clover closed his eyes at the sensation of the other man's fingers trailing down his neck and arms as he pulled away. He wanted to pull Qrow back to him immediately. He wanted to stay in this alcove forever. He would never have to find out if he lost his job, or even have to think about Salem. He would just have Qrow. He opened his eyes in time to see Qrow cock his head.

He looked Clover up and down, and the curve of his lips was a little too soft to be called a smirk. "Seems like you'll do."

Clover held out a hand. The world was expanding again, he knew, growing beyond just the two of them. He also knew that even if he did lose his job, there was no way he would abandon this mission. He would help James keep the world safe. And maybe, he could have Qrow too. Neither of them needed to go it alone. “Shall we?”

Qrow’s eyes darted from Clover’s face, to his hand, and then back again. He laid his hand in Clover’s and laced their fingers together. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> AND THEN NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENED. EVER.


End file.
